Black Coffee.
All this rain, and black coffee too,
does something to your sense of time & place -
what you're feelin about the whole damn human race -
yeah, gets under yr skin,
worries at the place all the pieces come together,
pickin away until something's pried up like an old scab,
and the wound is fresh.

All this rain, and black coffee too,
it's not doing me any bit of a good at all.
I got too much time -
there's way too much time -
I've got too much time to kill for you,
way too much time;
and all this rain, and black coffee too,
cuz you know that I've got too much time -
there's just too much time,
way too much time to kill for you.

Well, there's too much time on my hands to kill.
It's like there's a People's Army out there that is Time itself personified,
and they's come swarmin over the ridge with them loudspeakers blarin,
and they's all dressed the same,
and they's all lookin at me screamin, "Die Yankee."
I just can't kill so much time by myself.
There's only so much that a man can do for a woman,
honey,
but I'll try.

Salt.
A lost highway.
A tin can in the sand.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
Disappears.
There's the blink of an eye.
The sea is gone.
It's the salt that lingers on.
Straight.
Up one ridge.
Down the other side.
The road is a line.
Wait.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye.
A tin can in the sand.
Hold on to my ear.
Do you hear the sound of the sea?
The sea is gone.
The sound lingers on.
Salt.
And then I can hear the neon buzz.

Half buried at the side of the loneliest highway in the world.
A tin can in the sand.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye.
The sea is gone.
It's the salt that lingers on.
The lost highway.
Straight up one ridge.
Down the other side.
The road is a line.
Wait.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye again.
A tin can in the sand.
Hold on.

The lost highway.
A tin can.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye again!
And the sea is gone.
And it's the salt, it's the salt that lingers on.
Wait.

Did you hear that?
Did you hear?
It's the sound of the sea.
But the sea is gone.
Tin can.
Hold it to your ear.
Salt.
The sound lingers on.
Just about then I turned to her.
I said, Do you hear?
It's the sound of neon buzzing in the distance.
No, it's the sound of tin can in the sand half buried at the side of the loneliest highway in the world.

A lost highway.
A tin can.
In the sand.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
That disappears into a blink of an eye.
Just then the sea is gone.
And it's the salt that lingers.

The Doorbell.
What will I do if you go?
What will I do if you go?
What will I tell the neighbors?
How soon do you think they will know, if you go?

Who gonna talk to me?
Who gonna be my friend, if you go?

What will I do if you go?
What will I do if you go?
Who gonna care for my 'motional needs?
What will I say and then who will I be?

Who gonna talk to me?
Who's gonna be my friend?
Who gonna talk to me, if you go?

What will I do on my own?
I can have a party and still be alone.
I can sleep on my back and not answer the phone.
I can eat beans out of a can and keep the house tidy & neat.
If you go.
What will I do on my own?

The Radio Talks To Me.
All this salt is like too much rain.
I hear people speak -
Well, they say it so plainly...
that all this salt is just so much rain.
All this salt has come to be like so much rain.
They call and they speak so plainly -
All this salt is like too much... pain,
too much pain -
too, too much.
Hugga-chugga.
Too much, too much pain.

You wanna rub salt into my wound.
You wanna send me on my way.
You wanna take the sheets from off of my bed.
And then you'll say, "Well, hell, you're gonna be better off that way."
I feel better off than dead already.

You wanna have to flavor up some humble pie for me.
You're gonna have to bind me up tight.
You wanna have to lick the salt from off of my bread.
And you'll say, "Well, you're gonna be better off that way."
Hell, I feel better off than dead already.
What more can I ask?

All this salt is like too much rain.
I hear people call and speak so plainly.
They say all this salt is like so much rain,
so much pain.
All this salt,
all this salt is so so too -
so so too.

You wanna rub salt in my wound.
You wanna send me on my way.
You're gonna take the sheets off of my bed.
You'll say, "You're gonna be better off that way."
I feel better off than dead already.